M for Malevolence
by littlechochan
Summary: Moriarty's back from the dead, Sherlock's back from exile, and this time Molly has to fake her death to protect the people she loves. Rated M for gore, body horror and all that jazz. also a Sherlolly fanfic, with Molliarty too.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Hey there pals! ^_^ Lala here, reporting with doses of Sherlolly. Season 3 has left me in a complete mess and i have been using fanfiction like an addict does with pills. This idea has been itching in my head since the last few minutes of His Last Vow, and yeah. Here's me releasing it. Hope you all enjoy it!**

Molly Hooper sat at the staff room, waiting for Sebastian, also known as "Tom", also known as her "ex-boyfriend", to pick up his bloody phone. Out of all the days to decide to be unavailable, it had to be today!

_Magnussen is dead! Magnussen is dead and I can't even tell you that because you're God knows where and I'm stuck at the bloody morgue as per bloody usual, waiting for you to make all the bloody- _

"Did you miss me?"

It was like a whisper in her ear, arms draped around her, in the empty room devoid of souls. She flinched so hard, her iPhone fell to the floor.

_That can't be_

"Did you miss me?" it said over and over again; the same, slightly autotuned, voice, repeating the words like a chant.

That voice could only belong to one person. There could only be one. But he's dead. He should be dead.

Dead bodies, cries of desperation, screaming; they all trigger her to sit up, motivate her to seewhat sends her body to hysterics. She could almost faint.

She forced herself to take deep, slow breathes, suddenly feeling a thousand pair of eyes watching her. He's back. He was never gone. The man that took her life never really fled and has probably been keeping a watchful eye on her; on what remains of his web: Sebastian Moran, Molly Hooper, Heidi Günter, Kitty Riley, Tamaki Fujioka and Sniper. Maybe they've kept their fair share… if half of them didn't meet Sherlock Holmes.

She had to get up, she had to get away. If he really is alive, then she knows exactly where he would be. Gingerly, she allows herself to stand, holding on to things, anything to keep her from falling, and sneaks out through the back doors and heads to the, surprisingly, overbearing warmth of London.

* * *

"We need to Celebrate!" John chirps with delight, one arm draped around his wife, and the other placed awkwardly on Sherlock's shoulder as they hobble over to Mary's car.

"Celebrate the return of a criminal mastermind? And I'm the alleged psychopath," Sherlock murmured ever so softly, probably in denial over the recent turn of events.

"No!" John frowned. "The return of Sherlock Holmes, you're back and you're not exiled and you probably won't be dead in six months' time. I dunno, I think that's a pretty good reason to celebrate."

"And you were exiled for what, four minutes? I think that's a new record," Mary adds. "And John and all your other friends won't be losing you again," she says softly, aware of the sentiment that comes with it.

"Celebrate when a criminal mastermind is at loose?" Sherlock frowns, stops in place.

"Well… yeah," John nods, also stops, and stares at Sherlock dead in the eyes.

"sounds fun," Sherlock comments before walking off, aware of the look of delight on the Watsons.

"I'll make the calls!" Mary says as she takes a seat.

"And I'll drive us there," John mimics her.

* * *

The first thing she sees when she gets home, is her belongings knocked in disarray; the floors a sea of paper and decay. Last time she checked, she certainly didn't leave it that way.

"Sebastian Moran! I know you're in here!" she calls, as she practically swims in the pile of ankle deep paper. All her precious valuables, smashed into pieces.

"I swear to God if you've hurt Toby in the slightest bit I will personally make a coat with your-"

A shrill ring interrupts her session of insults. Staying Alive by the Beegees sing at full blast. She didn't even know she had the song on her phone.

"Hello?" she asked.

"Molly," the familiar voice of Sherlock Holmes relieves her for a slight instant.

"Oh it's just you," she exhales.

"Indeed it is just me," Sherlock stated. "Were you expecting someone else?"

"Would you be disappointed if i were to say yes?"

"Mm, no" he deadpanned

"Oh, Good."

"Is something the matter Molly?" Sherlock asks, almost sounding genuinely worried. I guess developing sentiment happens when you spend two years being dead. Let's just hope it worked for the other one...

"Fine. And you?"

"Peachy. Um… are you perhaps...free right now?"

"Why?"

"We're in the midst of celebrating the return of a criminal mastermind," he jokes; she can almost see that small smile of his.

"Haha, celebrating." She breathes, hopes the guilt in her voice was not too detectable. It's almost impossible for Sherlock Holmes to miss something out of place, but he had always been wrong about her.

"Err," she considers the proposition, until the footsteps from the other side of the apartment wake her to reality.

_Moriarty's alive, you're in deep trouble, find Moriarty and make up a grand excuse for the laziness; now is not the time for a picnic!_

"Sorry, but I'm really busy right now, is it okay if we do it another time?" she asks.

"Oh, alright." He hangs up without a farewell._Bastard _

"Sebastian?" she calls, suddenly feeling very unwelcome in her own home.

"Nope," she hears an Irish reply. "Even better!"

* * *

_Oh god, that was fast. _

She's thankful for his dramatic behaviour, otherwise he probably would have rushed in to see her cringe and wince at every move he made. She has been a bad, bad girl. And who knows how she's going to pay for it.

"To Sherlock's return!" John makes the toast, more than happy that his best friend is alive. They all raise their glasses and drink to their favourite sociopath, laughter, bubbles of chatter the idle banter, good food, practically everything in place.

And yet everything felt so... out of place for Sherlock; and it wasn't just because of his hatred for social gatherings.

"Hmm, why hasn't Molly come yet?" Mary asks Sherlock, a question everyone was probably eager to know as they all hush down to hear his answer.

"I don't know," he asks, bewildered by the sudden silence.

"Have you called her?"

"Yes."

"Oh well, she's just probably busy," john, who was slightly tipsy ("Lightweight," Lestrade sneers).

"Or she probably saw what was on the… you know," Mrs Hudson murmured, probably afraid of the topic herself.

"He dated her didn't he?" Lestrade muses.

"Who?" Mary asks.

"Well, you know," Lestarde gestures.

"Moriarty, not Voldemort," Sherlock rolls his eyes.

"Really?" Mary asks, alarmed with the news.

"Yeah, she dumped him and was left completely unharmed," John nods.

"How did you know that?" Sherlock asks.

"She told me."

Sherlock attempts to conceal his frown, he never knew John and Molly were friends for that long.

"Oh my god, he fancied her, didn't he?" Mary chuckles warmly.

"No, he used her to get to me," Sherlock answers briskly.

"But he left her completely unharmed, he could have just killed her when he was done with her, and thank God he didn't, he could have done so many horrible things to her. But he didn't," Mary tried to explain.

"Psychopaths are incapable of human emotions," Sherlock reminds her.

"He really is back," Lestrade says. He never thought those words would apply to Moriarty; the man that forced Sherlock to jump off a roof or his friends would kill be killed.

"Yeah okay, can we just f-forget about that for a second? We can think about that tomorrow, but for: to Sherlock!" John, clearly wasted, swigs a pint of beer.

* * *

(_**flashback time: august 2011**_)

"Wh-where am i?" Molly asked wearily, her head beating faster than her heart. Whatever Jim- no- Moriarty slipped in her coffee, it must have been lethal.

He remained silent and kept walking, swinging a black cane in one hand that matched perfectly with his suit.

She fumbled with her words, tried to keep in pace with the man, but it was no use.

"What are you doing Molly, I told you to sit over there," he gestures at the plastic set of chairs and tables with his cane.

"Which seat?" she asked groggily. She took a step; her face nearly smacked the floor, felt herself being pulled by a magnificent force.

"That bastard, always handling with the wrong doses," she heard him.

The force recklessly throws her on a chair, it was Moriarty. _For a thin man he has some strength_

"How are you feeling?" he asked. Her head with brimmed with noises, loud noises and pain. Her eyes fought to clamp shut, but she couldn't let herself do that. _Not now, not now_, not when the possibility of never waking up remained so close.

"Falling asleep? Am I really that boring?"

Molly's eyes returned with life, stare right at his.

"Fine," she lied. "Am I gonna die?" she suddenly asked, tried to keep her head up.

"Die, no, quite the contrary actually." He drawled on. "You see, you've piqued my interest," his face was so close to hers, she could smell the gum in his mouth.

"huh."

"I know! how did a mousy, boring, little pathologist manage to catch the interest of me, a well established criminal?" he speculated, leaned back and threw his legs on the table that separated the two of them.

"And i don't think anyone's noticed you've gone anyway, as if they'd care," he scoffed.

"y-you're wrong." She managed to utter, her breath turning sharp.

"Oh no, it's all happening so quick, i can't even tell you the full story. So let's be quick about this too."

He dramatically warmed up his breath.

"Molly Hooper, i would like you to join my criminal network. Work for me and experience the same fun i have."

"Crinimal, me ? y'sure?" she blabbered, her mouth failed to move.

"Yes... i think you'd make an excellent 'crinimal'."

"NO," she barked, her own voice was too loud to comprehend.

"Yes," Moriarty countered, except much calmly. "Or I'll leave you here to, you know, decompose."

"W-what?"

"Oh Molly, Molly, Molly. Did you really think i'd be as dumb as to give you a simple proposition? Let's re-word my request: will you join my network or die?"

She didn't answer, her blood shot eyes gave a glazed look at the criminal, as if she wasn't even listening. And she wasn't exactly listening either; the blood rushing to her ears was deafening enough.

"JOIN OR DIE?!" he shouted so abruptly, Molly flinched.

"Ha... poison," she managed to let out as her whole body slumped to the table, centimetres away from Moriarty's perched feet.

"Yes, poison. Ordered the dosage from my assistant except he gave twice the dosage," he sighed. "So you better hurry because time's-a-ticking."

"Thought you won't kill me," her shoulders shrugged, face covered by her arms. She was probably crying.

"Oh, well- i lied," he said in a sing-song style. "Anyway, according to my fellow workers, you have 3 minutes to make a choice, so do hurry. I'm getting a bit impatient now."

Become a criminal, me? or die in the middle of nowhere and be found ten years later? Or... maybe that could work.

"I don't" she croaked, feeling some form of liquid rise in her stomach.

"I can't," her breath became short gasps. Hot tears were pouring down her.

"Yes?" he pressured.

"I can't die now, i don't," blood, which she thought were tears, streamed down her ghastly pale cheeks, blocked her vision. She started coughing uncontrollable, also released blood out there too.

"Excellent answer and perfect timing," he smiled, she thought, she couldn't see anything anyway. She last thing that registered her mind was a pair of arms encasing her body as her world became black.

**AN: ah i really love Jim, except he is such a pain to write because he is so amazing. I know you're probably thinking "you promised us Sherlolly, where is the Sherlolly?!" well it'll come soon i promise! Let me know what you think about this chapter, whether it was interesting, boring, cliché, anything! i', so very excited to continue writing this, and i'm sure i will be writing frequently as i tend to procrastinate on my studies a lot.  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: hi again people, and thanks for the reviews and follows and such. I'm very flattered! I hope this chapter will be just as enjoyable as the first, though this chapter is very heavily dialogue based. Yeah I'm gonna stop talking and yeah, enjoy!**

"Molly, dear," he coos, ducks as she throws a plant pot at him.

"It's nice to see you too; what manners you've developed. Sebastian's turned you into a right tramp I bet," he accuses critically, like a parent scolding their child for talking to the "bad crowd"

"How nice of you to turn up," she scorns. "After two freaking years!"

"It was just as pleasant for you as it was for me you know," he begins, staring daggers into her core. "Silently watching, as my feeble workers let that man crumble my web, force them to flee, start new lives, fake their names, die," he splutters, tips his head to the side where there lips are millimetres from contact.

"Do you know how that feels?" he asks, feigning hurt.

_Not really. But I can't say that out loud or you'll probably skin me to death_

"Do you?" he repeats, less patient.

"No," she answers more confidently than she felt. "And quite frankly I don't care. Stop wasting my time and leave," she huffs, strides to the equally sullied kitchen. _It doesn't matter, since I'm gonna die I may as well say what I have left._

"Oh, that's funny," he exhales, follows her there. "Why don't you take a seat?"

"At my own house? No thanks," she answers. "But you can if you wish, in fact, make yourself at home; you've done a good job at that," she says, points to the mess that is currently her apartment.

"OH… that wasn't me," he explains. And she knows it wasn't him; he can tolerate murder, decapitation any form of torture, but not mess.

"Most likely Sebastian or Tom as you named him. Bet he was plenty of fun," he jokes. She conceals a grin because he can't win now.

Jim was right of course, Sebastian was a complete kill-joy. There was no time for fun in his books, it was all work and all action; pretending to be engaged to him was such a chore. Stabbing him with a fork didn't even release half the distaste she felt towards him.

"I stabbed him with a fork," she blurts out. Damnit now is not the time for small talk.

"Seriously?" he chuckles; a very good hearted chuckle; the only kind of laugh that can occasionally be drawn from him without any bloodshed. "Now take a seat."

"No."

"Oh for god's sake," he sighs, pulls a gun and lazily points it at her.

"Oh so that's why you're here," she sneers, already more than prepared for her fate, reluctantly sitting.

"Not really. And why are you the one that's angry at me? If I remember correctly…" he starts.

_Don't say it, don't say it, and don't say – _

"You're the reason why we're in this state."

_He said it. _

"I never thought you of all people would be able to ruin my plans. Or even act out on it."

"Well your plans were clearly flawed if mousy Molly was able to de-tangle it," she mocks, averting his gaze.

"Wow there, someone's developed a spine!" he laughs. "And very bad vocabulary too."

"What do you want Jim?" she asks, already feeling drained from his mental analysis.

Not long from now till she'll revert to her "usual" mousy state.

"To get you back of course, and deem the correct _punishment_," he emphasis the last word.

Punishments from Moriarty aren't exactly physical damage as one would expect. Finger nails torn out, eyeballs gouged out, fingers smashed to pieces; those are usually left for clients that refuse to keep their fair share of the bargain. Members however, are meant to fulfil tasks that would emotionally scar them, if they're lucky.

"I've already spoke about it with Sebastian, he thinks I should kill you. But I don't like that idea. Kitty thinks you should be moved to another department; but work without you is bo-ring," he explains.

"I'm flattered," she adds dryly.

"Don't be," he suddenly warns her. "Oh wait, I've found one," his eyes flash with delight.

"I think you should die after all."

* * *

The shrill ring of "Staying Alive" breaks the babbles in Sherlock's living room; which consisted of the Watson couple, Mrs Hudson and Sherlock himself.

He grabs his phone in front of him, checks the caller ID.

_He's not really alive, it's not possible. I saw him blow his brains out before my eyes._

"Unknown number," he informs.

"It could be him," John suggests, exhales sharply.

"Not possible," Sherlock claims. "I saw him blow his brains; this sudden appearance is most likely a ruse."

"Oh heavens," Mrs Hudson whimpers, flees to the kitchen. The song gets louder and louder with every passing second; the caller clearly not keen on hanging up.

Reluctantly, he picks up.

"Hello?"

"Sherlock, honey, it's been a long time."

"You… you're still alive," Sherlock manages to utter, his voice hoarse.

"Mm, yes, very much alive my dear, just like you," Moriarty drawls.

"It's been very… boring these past two years, no? Wait a minute; it must have been very fun for you to have picked out half of my WEB!" Moriarty shrieks so loudly, John and Mary even flinch.

"So it is…" Mary trails off, horror bleeding out of her.

"But apparently you didn't do such a good job, because here I am!"

"I've torn down majority of your network in a time span of two years, while you probably spent your whole lifetime trying to build it. I'd be disbelievingly surprised if you essentially decide to resume the game with me because I assure you, I will destroy every single remnant left of that criminal network of yours, you utter Bastard," Sherlock threatens in one breath.

"My, my, that's big; even from you. And why is everyone so angry at me? For her and then you, can't a criminal even get a break?"

"Her?" Sherlock asks, immediately understanding the indication, scrawls the words "_Call the police to Molly's house_," for John to acknowledge.

"Oh yes 'her', the whole point as to why I called in the first place," he exaggerated each word.

"You see, while you were all busy celebrating, I decided I should fix little mistakes. You know what they say-"

"Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me," Sherlock finishes, watching John come back from the kitchen, gave his friend a firm nod.

"Yes exactly. And even though I had something totally different planes, I decided I may as well take the person who matters most to… you know… another life."

"Don't you dare." Sherlock threatens lowly yet ominously, only to hear a very unnatural laugh from the other end.

"Sherlock?" he hears on the end of the phone.

"Molly," he answers, his voice brimmed with urgency. "Are you alright, has he done anything to you?"

"I'm fine Sherlock, really," she answers solemnly, regretting this phone call altogether.

"Listen, I'm going to get you out of this, I promise," Sherlock says.

"No, you won't" she answers all too quickly. "And you shouldn't. There are other people in danger"

"Well those people aren't as important as you are to me."

"Really?" she answers, numbness crawling all over her.

"Yes of course you are, of course," he repeats, already making a move out of the apartment, with John following behind.

"Th-thanks," she answers, trying to hold back tears. "Just, just let this happen p-please."

"Absolutely not, hang in there Molly; I swear I'm coming to get you." He hears a hand thump on the phone.

"Well you better hurry," Moriarty says in a sing-song tune. "Bombs don't really dismantle themselves. In fac-" Sherlock hangs up mid sentence, going to a full sprint.

"It's Moriarty then? He's kidnapped Molly?" John asks from behind, only to receive a grunt in confirmation

* * *

"Didn't you say you wouldn't kill me?" Molly asks lowly, perplexed but not disappointed, holding back tears that are threatening to stream down her sickly white cheeks.

"Shut up," he barks, taps his phone furiously. "Sebastian, I need you and Sniper in here right now. Make sure the two of you aren't seen," he orders.

"We're going to be playing a great magic trick."

**AN: I do this thing, where I get ideas and thoughts, and then I decide to write them down to torture people who actually read my stuff. Let me know what you think, or if i made really silly spelling errors! ^_^ i promise there will be lots of action involved in the next chapter  
**


	3. Chapter 3-blind

**AN: hey there folks and sorry for the late update, school has been stressful and my anxiety issues don't really help much either; but never mind! **

It doesn't take Sherlock by surprise when a loud blare from a car overclouds his anxiety-stricken blabbering.

"That must be Mycroft," Sherlock says, his weird way of farewell. He puts on his coat, heads out of the room when he feels a hand on his shoulder. It's Mary.

"We're coming with you," she insists, which irritates the consulting detective further because he spent the last two minutes talking the couple out of it.

"No you are not," he huffs childishly and storms out before anyone can even blink.

He rushes into the car, slams the door shut and orders the driver to speed off before John can even set foot outside. The driver complies, more than obedient, as they speed through town; even pass a few red lights.

"I thought he was dead?" Mycroft's voice appears from the front of the car.

"As did I," Sherlock answers lowly.

"So we've been fooled then," Mycroft muses, bitterness more than apparent in his tone; he loathes being beaten, or even being made a fool out of.

Sherlock's silence only confirms it.

"What's going on now?" he manages to say after moments of silence.

"A lot of his men took refuge around her block, they probably planned this beforehand. Scotland Yard are already there, but, apparently, people who have set foot into her flat are yet to come out." Mycroft explains. "The last person entered three minutes ago,"

The driver slows down when they arrive at the street, probably because of the sheer amount of people fleeing; or the blaring sirens that slightly muffle the gunshots with the overall noise pollution.

"Why have you slowed down?" Mycroft asks obnoxiously.

"Uh…I th-think I ran over somebody," the driver confesses unusually.

"No you did not; they were already dead; along with the other ones lying before us. Drive!"

"But, they could still be-"

Sherlock cuts the needless arguing from his mind, gets out of the car and sprints against the overbearing crowd. He pushes past the flock of police officers, the startled civilians and sprints up the staircase to the second floor

There's a crowd of police officers, but he still manages to lock eyes with Lestrade; whose eyes slightly give way to relief when seeing Sherlock.

"There's no sign of her," he begins. "But then again, we wouldn't really know since the people that entered haven't even come out yet."

"You have a message," Donovan comes from nowhere, points to the door that leads to Molly's flat.

**SHERLOCK HOLMES ONLY** is smeared in red liquid. Presumably blood; but he doesn't want to consider whose it is.

"I guess I go in then," he concludes nonchalantly, even though every fibre of his being ripples with anxiety.

"You can't be serious," Donovan sighs, but he simply ignores her and walks in. he hears footsteps behind him and notices Lestrade. They take a few steps in, back to back, absorb every piece of information they can possibly find.

The whole flat is in disarray. But with the way things are thrown around, the place seems more like a robbery crime scene. Aside from the broken flower pot, there doesn't appear to be very many signs of assault. The gun on the kitchen table isn't even used.

A series of deductions assault the consulting criminal. Sheets of paper, scraps from books, clothing, broken glass, fur; they all lay haphazardly on the floor.

_Wait a minute, fur? _

Sherlock approaches it cautiously; gingerly pulls out a finger to get a feel out of it.

"Oh my God," he lets out uncharacteristically, even Lestrade picks up something is wrong.

It's a paw. Sherlock's touching a paw. Gently he sweeps the dirt away and uncovers a cat. His eyes are gouged out and replaced with a pool of ever-growing crimson.

Sherlock's mind palace barely acknowledges the mess before his eyes; or could it be that it's refusing to process it?

"What is it?" Lestrade asks.

"Nothing," Sherlock dismisses, scoops the blind cat in his arms. Alive or not, that cat needs proper treatment.

The atmosphere in the room shifts to one more ominous, even the faint sound of the clock startles the two of them every now and then.

_Wait … the whole house is in a complete mess but the clocks are completely unscathed? _

That's when it hits him.

"Greyson, we've got to get out here now!" he barks, grabs Lestrade by one arm as carries Toby on his shoulder as he dashes out.

And just in time to see the apartment deteriorate into a thousand shades of red.

**AN: man, this chapter was so hard to write, but now it's out of the way hurray! Not gonna lie, I did rush this chapter. I guess I should put out that updates will be less frequent because school, ew yuck, and my mental health is just… a complete mess right now sorry :(**


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